


Scott's Jeans

by NotYourKhakis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Long-Suffering Derek, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYourKhakis/pseuds/NotYourKhakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pillow talk between Derek and Stiles.  Stiles insecurities (what a surprise).  Fluffy nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scott's Jeans

Derek and Stiles lie next to each other in Stiles’ bed. The curtains are open, allowing the moonlight to cast a pale light in the room. The light blue sheet partially covering them gives the room a dreamy, underwater feel. Derek is drowsy with a sweet post-sex heaviness. He is on the verge of drifting off.

“Have you seen his jeans?

“They’re freakishly tight.

“Kind of obscene, when you get right down to it. All faded and…clingy. That’s what they are: clingy. And I mean, dude, you can see, like, his junk. Not that I’m interested in his junk. But c’mon, they’re so tight that they’re faded to show the outline of his phone. If your jeans are so tight that the outline of your phone shows, then it makes sense that the same principle would apply to your junk. He shouldn’t be wearing jeans like that. He shouldn’t. Why would he wear jeans like that? No one needs to see his junk all…junky and in-your-face.” 

There was a silence as Stiles wondered at the offending jeans. Derek breaks the silence, “Who the hell are you talking about?” 

Stiles looks at him, mouth agape. “Whattaya mean _who_? Scott, of course. His jeans. You’ve seen his jeans, haven’t you? The gray ones? Or almost any of them, come to think of it. ‘Who,’ he asks. Christ.” 

“You came inside me less than ten minutes ago,” Derek says. “Why are you talking about Scott’s jeans? Who even looks at Scott’s jeans?”

“All right, all right, don’t get all bent out of shape. That was very good sex. Special. I feel close to you.” He gives Derek a lick up the side of Derek’s neck, ending with a quick kiss at the base of Derek’s right ear since he knows this is one of Derek’s sweet spots. Derek lets out a little Derek-purr and brings his hand lightly up the side of Stiles’ body.

Stiles sits up and away from Derek’s touch. “It’s just…Scott and I have known each other since we were kids, right? We went to little league together, ran away from home together, played Nintendo together….” Stiles gets a faraway look in his eyes, but his eyes definitely do _not_ mist up. “Anyway, so yeah, all that. And last year he was pulling me down with his nerdiness. And sure, there was the whole werewolf thing, and your crazy fucking uncle, and Allison, and Jackson as the Kanima, and the pack of Alphas, and whatnot, but…now he’s wearing those _jeans_. Those obscene jeans. Those obscene, junk-prominent jeans. And…he just _shouldn’t_ , that’s all. It’s just not right.” 

“What difference does it make what kind of jeans he wears? Maybe he likes his jeans tight. Maybe he’s just trying new things. Who cares?”

“Who cares? I’m his best friend. _I_ care! Friends don’t let friends wear junk-showing jeans like that,” Stiles fumes. “Having sex with Allison is one thing. That’s great. He becomes a werewolf and loses his virginity. To a werewolf hunter, sure, but good for him. He’s my boy and all that. I’m happy for him.” Stiles’ expression turns stern. “But wearing jeans like that? Someone needs to rein him in. Those jeans don’t bode well. This is going to end badly. Anyone can see that.”

“End badly.” Derek is quiet for a moment. “End badly for whom?”

Stiles looks lost for a moment, but his face turns resolute. “For all of us.”

Derek cocks an eyebrow. “Dramatic much?”

Stiles’ face flushes, furious that Derek is being so dismissive. He takes a deep breath and regroups. “Look, you haven’t known him as long as I have. I’m not explaining this very well. Okay, you know what a dork he is, right?”

“Umm….”

“For Chrissake, even crazy Peter picked up on that when he had me break into Scott’s phone and he found out Scott’s user name _and_ password were both ‘Allison.’ I mean come _on_ , it doesn’t get much lamer than that. “

“I think that means he was in love. Or puppy love or whatever. It doesn’t have to mean he’s a dork.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open again, unable to fathom why Derek is being so obstinate. “He has an app on his phone called Strawberry Shortcake Berry Best Friends. I shit you not. That’s made for, like, little girls. He says he likes the _music_. Jesus. Someone with an app like that should definitely _not_ be wearing junk-showing jeans. It’s unnerving and unnatural. I think it might rip the time-space continuum. Seriously, dude. That’s like a thing, isn’t it? It could definitely happen if this continues. Are there jeans interventions? Maybe we should look into that.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

After a few moments of silence, Stiles says quietly. “I googled it and his jeans are way tighter than they ought to be.”

Derek rolls over to face Stiles, propping his head on his hand, realizing that sleep isn’t going to happen anytime soon. The rumpled sheet shifts slightly to reveal the beginnings of Derek’s pubes. “You googled jean tightness. Really.”

Stiles’ eyes glaze over and his mouth goes a little slack as his gaze shifts down to Derek’s crotch. Derek quirks a smile. He shifts his hips closer to Stiles and adjusts his dick through the sheet.

Stiles lets out an involuntary “guh” at the sight of Derek. The sound of his voice snaps him back. “Cut it out!” Stiles barks. He bats away Derek’s hands away and firmly pulls the sheet up to the middle of Derek’s torso. “No fair using sex to distract me when there’s a crisis at hand.” Stiles settles back to his sitting position on the bed. He’s silent. “Um, what was I saying?”

Derek sighs and says in a tired voice, “You googled.”

“Right. Exactly.” Stiles is back on point. “I googled it. And dude, I won’t tell you what all I had to wade through to find any useful information. But I will say this, don’t go wandering through Tumblr with the search terms ‘junk-showing jeans.’ You’ll see things. Things you can’t _un_ -see.”

Derek’s eyes brighten for the first time since the conversation began. “Yes? Care to share? Maybe we should google together. Like, research.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Perv. No, there’s nothing I’d like to ‘share.’” His face softens. “Well, maybe later.”

Stiles is quickly back to business. “Quit the distracting again. Besides, we just _had_ sex. Aren’t you kind of old to be this horny?” Stiles has already starting easing himself away from Derek but Derek pounces on him, quickly wrestling Stiles into the little spoon position, his arms firmly encircling Stiles’ arms and chest. Stiles sighs. They lay quietly.

“What is it about these jeans that have you all bothered? Anyone looking at your wardrobe can tell you don’t give a shit about clothes.”

“Hey,” Stiles protests. “My clothes are perfectly sensible. And some might say stylish.”

“Stylish? Who would say that?”

“Says the guy whose entire wardrobe consists of jeans, t-shirts, and henleys. All in black or gray.”

Derek grunts. “They suit me. Whatever. They’re just clothes.” Derek readjusts his grip on Stiles. “So what about Scott’s jeans?” Derek knows something is bothering Stiles and resigns himself to figuring out what it is.

“Look who’s interested now,” Stiles crows.

“Stiles. Spill.”

Stiles remains silent but Derek can sense the cogs turning so he waits patiently.

“It’s not the jeans so much. Well, yeah, it’s the jeans. But it’s his _junk_. It seems kind of…big. Like, oversized. Like, not the Scott I grew up with. I mean, obviously, puberty and all, but like _bigger_.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think his dick is bigger than mine?”

There’s a pause before Derek lets out a full-blown laugh. It startles Stiles at first. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Derek laugh so unreservedly before. But his surprise turns to anger and he squirms to get out of Derek’s grip. But Derek is holding firmly. Stiles changes tack. “It’s a legitimate question,” Stiles spits out.

Derek’s laughter has subsided to wheezing. “Is that what this is about?” he manages to get out.

“Forget it,” says Stiles petulantly. “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand. You with your ripped body and porn-sized cock. Sure, let’s all make fun of Stiles’ insecurities.”

Derek quiets his chuckles and hugs Stiles a little tighter. “Stiles, I like your body. _All_ your body. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t.”

Stiles huffs. “Not answering the question.”

“What, Scott’s dick? I don’t know,” Derek says. “Besides, you’ve probably seen it more than I have.”

“But, dude, he’s my best friend. I don’t look at him like that. Besides, I need a more…impartial opinion. I’m thinking this werewolf thing may have made his dick bigger and made him all, like, _showy_ about it. That would explain the sudden inclination to show his junk to everyone in town with those goddamned tight jeans. But I haven’t been able to find anything in my research to reliably confirm it. So? Do werewolves have super-big dicks in addition to the rest of their super powers? Or is that specific to you?” Stiles has squirmed out of Derek’s hold and maneuvers himself so he’s sitting on the bed again, facing Derek. “Are Isaac and Peter and the alphas all walking around with ginormous penises while the rest of us humans are doomed to stand in your phallic shadows?” Stiles’ jaw is set, clearly expecting an answer.

Derek stares at him, speechless. Stiles throws himself back on the pillow. “That’s what I thought. Fucking werewolves. Fucking big-dicked creeps. It’s not enough that you have all the other freaky super powers, you have to have the biggest dicks in town, too. Fuckers.” Stiles lets out a bitter sigh.

They lie next to each other, motionless, illuminated by the blue light.

Derek breaks the quiet at last. “Uh, Stiles?”

Stiles doesn’t make a sound.

“Stiles?”

Stiles lets out a grunt.

“Your dick is bigger than mine.”

“Dude, don’t even try. Don’t pity me. It just makes it worse.”

“Seriously. Yours is bigger.”

Stiles is quiet again.

“Derek, hello, I’m right here. That’s like the dumbest lie ever.”

“It’s bigger. Not much, but yup. Bigger.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay. This is a stupid conversation anyway.”

“Wait a minute! What makes you say that? I know your dick. And God knows, I know mine. Intimately. Not as intimately as I know yours, but, you know, I’m working on that. Yours is much bigger.”

“Stiles, weren’t you just talking about werewolves’ _super powers_? You know I hate that term.”

“Stay on point,” Stiles commands.

“I think I’m pretty good authority on what’s bigger than what, with my super eyesight and sense of touch. But whip out the ruler if you want. There’s really no reason to. Yours is a little longer. Mine is a little fatter. We’re a pretty good match, I’d say.”

“But. I can see. My eyesight isn’t wolfy, but it’s twenty-twenty. Yours is clearly bigger.” Stiles isn’t used to being wrong and he’s befuddled by the whole situation.

“Stiles, when you’re looking at my dick, it’s usually, um, up close and personal. Unless you’ve developed super flexibility that I don’t know about, you can’t see your own dick like that.” Stiles is silent again. “Besides, you know I had some experience when I left Beacon Hills. Like, a lot of experience. Taking your dick is a challenge. A challenge I enjoy, but still a challenge.”

Stiles is quiet, assimilating this information. “But….” Stiles stops. Derek waits patiently again. “And then….” Derek has no idea how what sort of mental gymnastics are going on in Stiles’ head. He reaches out to put a hand on Stiles’ thigh as he waits while Stiles blurts out pieces of his stream of consciousness. “So all along….” “And then I was _sure_ ….” “But Danny said….” And strangely, “…tomatoes aren’t….” Derek just waits it out.

At last, Stiles lets out a final sigh. “Jesus, my dick is bigger than yours.”

“Longer, not fatter,” Derek corrects.

“Well, split some hairs why don’t ya. Length is the thing. I just can’t believe this.” He smiles happily at Derek.

Derek returns the smile and eases his hand up Stiles’ thigh. “Maybe you should put this newfound knowledge to use.”

“Oh man, you are so right!” Stiles hops off the bed and starts rummaging through the mess on top of his desk.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Derek growls.

“Looking for my phone, of course,” he says, “what do you think?”

“Stiles,” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose again, feeling one of those headaches coming on that only Stiles can induce, “why are you looking for your phone?” He’s a little afraid of the answer.

“So I can text Scott. He’ll never believe it. We may have to prove it to him, buddy.” Stiles turns, beaming at Derek, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

Derek groans, leans forward, wraps his hand around Stiles’ waist, and scoops him back into the bed.

“Wait, I didn’t find my phone yet,” Stiles protests.

“That’s what I was counting on,” Derek grits out.

“But this is great news…” Stiles nearly whines. Nearly.

“Private,” Derek says in that tone that means don’t fuck with me. “This is our private thing. No sharing with Scott or anyone else. I mean it, Stiles.”

Stiles grunts, clearly not happy. “But knowledge should be shared.”

“You don’t need to share _everything_ , Stiles. And not this.”

“Well,” Stiles concedes. “I guess maybe this one time. But this doesn’t set precedent. I reserve the right to tell Scott about anything else.” Stiles pauses. “He does get kind of squeamish about some of it, though.” Stiles shakes his head. “Weird.” Stiles ponders that for a moment.

“Hey, you said something about putting newfound knowledge to use, didn’t you? What about that?”

Derek rolls over and kisses Stiles softly. He shifts his mouth to Stiles’ neck and starts working his way down.

“And Derek?”

“Mmm?” Derek half-answers.

“There’s nothing to feel inadequate about. I love you for who you are.”

Derek rolls his eyes up to Stiles’ face. Stiles bats his eyes.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles cackles and puts his hand on Derek’s head, guiding him down to his enormous dick.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a goof of a challenge with some friends after we watched an episode of TW. The prompt, Scott's Jeans, was based on a particularly tight pair of jeans Scott was wearing in the episode. This story didn't go quite where I thought it would go. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Comments always welcome.


End file.
